


The Children of the War

by Lise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's dead so is Sam, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Jo tries therapy, Post Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Jo have an Evening. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Children of the War

She found him late in the second month. 

“Hey,” she said, and all he could say in response was, “Hey.”

“You look good,” he managed after a moment of silence. She did look good. One corner of her mouth quirked up in a way that made his heart twang. He wondered if that was a hunter thing or something else, because it looked so much like-

He cut that thought off, and watched her step over the salt line, noticing she was careful not to break it. “You look like shit,” she said, and then shrugged. “Better than I expected, though.”

Sam just tipped his head, acknowledging that. She looked harder than he remembered. More fierce. But her face was still heart-shaped and pretty and her hair gleamed even in the low light. Dean would have ogled the hell out of her, and never touched her. 

For some reason, that thought made him want to hit something. Jo tapped her foot on the floor and crossed her arms. “Go take a shower,” she said. “I’m taking you out for dinner.” 

Sam scoffed. “You’re kidding me.” 

“Not so much,” Jo said, and smirked at him. “You turning me down?” 

Sam lifted one shoulder and let it fall. Trying to work out what the thing to do in this circumstance would be. “Someone put you up to this?” he asked instead. 

“Nobody puts me up to anything,” Jo said, sounding almost annoyed. “Though apparently Bobby Singer’s been calling just about anyone he thinks mighta seen you. Apparently he’s worried.” 

Sam grunted in acknowledgment. He had the phone messages to prove that one. Or had had, before dumping the phone. He kept his eyes level on Jo and she snorted. “Can’t imagine why. Come on. I’ll even buy.”

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he was hungry. “Okay,” he said, “Fine. Wait outside. I won’t be long.” 

“Take your time,” Jo said. “You stink.”

He watched her waltz out the door, frowning at her back.

* * *

Sam met her outside after taking her advice and a long shower. It was the first place he’d stayed for a while that had one to begin with, but it still felt better than he expected. The water wasn’t hot, was barely even lukewarm, but some of the knots in his back might have loosened. Minutely.

He stood outside the door after locking it, and looked at Jo, waiting. This was her game. Sam wasn’t even sure why he was playing. 

She was flipping her father’s knife up and catching it, looking out at the road. “Ready to go?” she asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Though we’d take the Impala.” 

Sam stiffened. “Don’t you have a car?” The Impala was Dean’s. Somehow, he felt like it would be wrong to share it, even with Jo, without asking first. And unless there was a gate to Hell that he hadn’t found yet (and he’d looked, for about a week) then they were out of luck on that front. 

Jo shrugged again and tucked her knife away. “Yeah, I have a car. I just like yours better.” 

“It’s not mine.”

Jo glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Sam stared at her, keeping his expression blank. “Okay then,” she said finally. “I like _Dean’s_ better. Can we go?” There was something in her eyes, half a challenge and half a look of…

Sam relented. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, fine.” He pulled the keys out of his pocket and headed for the car, parked sleek and black and conspicuous in the parking lot full of junkers. He opened the driver’s side door after only the slightest of hitches – he was almost done doing that by now – and waited for Jo to slide into the passenger seat. 

She looked at the iPod jack and her eyebrow quirked up again. “Updated the music?” she murmured, and Sam felt his shoulders draw up, defensive. 

_There’s only so much I can take. Driving his car is bad enough._ “Yeah,” he said. “Cassette tapes aren’t really my thing.” 

“Uh-huh,” said Jo, and she sounded strikingly like her mother. _You’re not fooling me,_ he heard, and was briefly tempted to stop and kick her out and run. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, instead, eyes on the road ahead. Jo leaned back. 

“Drive for a ways. I’ll let you know when we get to the turn-off.” 

The car fell silent, and Sam relaxed. Conversation was hard. Being around people was hard. Sometimes he wondered how he’d never realized…of course, sometimes the quiet closed in and was full of thoughts and pain and screaming, and those were the times for getting smashed as quick and hard as possible. 

Or for finding a hunt. 

“Mum’d like to see you, if you have the time,” Jo said, suddenly. Sam’s hands tightened on the wheel. 

“You’re talking again?” 

“Yeah,” Jo said. “I mean, she’s still pretty ticked off at me, but she says she’d rather know where I was. I got the…news from her.” She paused, and Sam wondered what the look on her face was. He didn’t dare to look sideways. “You know I kinda thought you’d be dead?” 

Sam laughed. The sound grated over his vocal cords and sounded unnatural even in his own ears. “Yeah, well,” he said, and stopped. Silence closed in again. Jo cleared her throat and he could almost see her looking out the window. 

“Here’s the turn,” she said abruptly. “Slow down. See the sign?”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said simply, and turned off the road, starting down a smaller strip of pavement. He glanced at the sign as he went by, not even registering the name of the place they were going. When they pulled up in front of the building – a real building, not falling down, the sign fresh painted and the lights inside a healthy yellow color, he blinked. “This is…nice.” 

“I’m taking you out for dinner, aren’t I? Not going to some dump.” He glanced at Jo, and she grinned at him. Sam stopped. 

“Look, whatever you’re doing-”

“Does everything have an ulterior motive with you?” 

“Yeah,” Sam said flatly, “Actually.” 

Jo looked annoyed, and pressed her lips together in a way that made it look more like a pout than a line. “Well, there isn’t one. I just thought – maybe I just wanted some company.” 

“And so you just decided to come looking for me? I didn’t make myself easy to find.”

Jo crossed her arms. “Maybe I’m better at this than you give me credit for.”

“That’s not the point,” Sam said, feeling frustration spark somewhere almost forgotten. “The point is-”

“Can’t I just want to talk to someone?” There was a sharp note in her voice that made Sam flinch. “You’re not the only one-” He remembered. Jo had liked Dean. Maybe even idolized him a little. It was easy to do, Sam got that. Of course he did. 

_But he was my brother,_ he wanted to snarl. _Do you get that? He was the only family I had left and I’m not going to get him back, and it’s my fault._

He held up his hands and backed off instead. “Sorry,” he said, “Sorry, it’s fine. It’s fine.” 

Jo huffed and glared at him, but her shoulders stayed hunched. “You’re damn right it’s fine. Come on.” She dragged him toward the front door, and Sam followed after, regathering his blankness. Right now, he thought he’d need it. 

_Why am I here?_ He asked himself, and didn’t have a good answer.

* * *

The table had candles. Fucking candles. Sam stared at them until someone came and handed them a menu, and then he stared at that instead. Jo snickered. “Someone looks like a moron,” she said, and Sam felt himself flush.

It felt surreal. More than that, _un_ real. He looked at the table and the candle and the menu and the nice room, and Jo sitting sprawled in ungainly posture across from him, and wondered what was going on. “It’s just been a while,” he said. 

“Yeah,” she said, “I know. This place – dad cleared a ghost out of it ages ago. When I introduced myself…well.” 

Sam looked at the tables around them, empty. “Looks pretty quiet.” 

Jo blushed. “It’s not exactly…really open anymore. I asked for a favor.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You had this _planned?_ ” He could almost hear Dean’s voice say _what is this, a date?_ and it just made his chest ache. Jo grinned cheekily at him. 

“If you said no I could still enjoy the lasagna by myself.” Jo opened the menu and began to peruse. After a moment, Sam did the same. They were both quiet, for a while. Sam stared at all the options, all the choices, good food that he could have without paying for it. Nothing overly fried or undercooked. 

His stomach heaved and lurched. Sam forced a smile. “So the lasagna’s good, huh?” he said. 

“Yeah,” Jo said. “To die for, oh my god.” 

Sam wondered how he was going to eat anything when that was the last thing he wanted to do. He could hear a clock ticking somewhere in the room and was struck with the sudden urge to smash it. _Clock strikes twelve. End of the world, Sam._ “I think I’ll get that, then,” he said, and set down the menu. 

He didn’t even listen to what Jo ordered, just looked around them and caught himself identifying exits and covering places, vulnerable spots. He cut himself off before it could get too far. Once upon a time, he would have loved all of this. Had taken Jess out to places like this, a little ways out, somewhere quiet where they could have a nice dinner he could barely afford. 

That felt like a whole ‘nother life, now. 

Someone came and took their orders, and when Sam glanced up, the young man smiled at him and winked. Sam looked away quickly, wondering what he thought that they were up to. Out on a date, maybe. A girl having a night with her sweetheart. 

The thought made him feel even sicker. _It should be Dean,_ he thought, not for the first time. _Sitting here with her. It should be him._

“So,” Jo said, breaking the silence. “How long have you been in town?” 

Sam shrugged. “Couple of days.” 

“And before that?” 

“Here and there.” Sam looked away and plucked at the napkin in his lap. “It doesn’t matter.” Or it didn’t need to. He didn’t remember all that much of the first month, in honesty. It was a miracle he wasn’t dead. Or something. 

“You know I wasn’t kidding. About you looking bad.” Jo’s eyes were level, and far more grown up than he remembered. Sam met them. 

“You’re really doing wonders for my ego, you know.” 

“Dammit-” Jo cut off. “That’s not the…Jesus Christ. I’m just saying. Maybe you should be talking to someone instead of running off-”

“You sound like Bobby,” Sam said with a sharp laugh. 

“Sometimes old people have good ideas. Rarely, but sometimes.” Jo put her hands on the table. “Look, I just thought I’d…offer.” 

“So you’ve offered,” Sam said. “Thanks. I’m good. Is that all?” Jo made a noise like she was going to say something, or maybe yell, and then stopped. 

The food arrived. Sam picked at his and looked anywhere but across the table. Wondered what he thought he was doing.

* * *

“You know,” Jo said quietly, “You haven’t said his name even once this whole time?”

Sam stilled, and set down his fork. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he said, carefully. 

“You haven’t.” She looked right at him. “It’s like – I don’t even know what it’s like. Like you’re trying to avoid something and contorting yourself all over the place so you don’t have to face it. What’s the deal? What’s saying his _name_ going to do?” 

“You’re not saying it either,” Sam challenged. Jo leaned forward, her elbows on the table. 

“Dean,” she said, “Dean, Dean, Dean. I don’t have a problem saying it.” Her eyes glistened wetly, but her voice was clear. “I just want to know why you can’t.” 

“It’s not like I’m thinking-”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Jo frowned, and then pushed her chair back and stood up. “Come on. Let’s just go.”  
“What are you-”

“This is pointless,” Jo cut him off. “We should just go get drunk. Maybe that was what I should have done in the first place.” 

“You don’t have to try to,” Sam started to say, but Jo just _looked_ at him, and Sam let his mouth close. She had that look in her eyes again that made him want to turn and leave. “You haven’t finished your dinner,” he said instead. 

“Neither have you,” Jo said. “What did you have, two bites?” 

“I’m not hungry.” He hadn’t been hungry for almost two months. Jo sighed, and turned toward the door. 

“Come on,” she said. “We’re going back to your room, even if it’s filthy. I bet you have alcohol there, and if you’re going to be that way…”

“You could just go,” Sam said, suddenly annoyed. “If it’s that much of a burden, you could just leave, it’s not like I asked you to come here. If you’re telling the truth, not like anyone did. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You’re not sorry at all,” Jo accused. “And if I left, what would you do? Go get drunk by yourself in that room and take off tomorrow morning? Whatever, okay. But at least you can share the bounty.” 

He thought about getting in the car and driving off without her. Or locking her out of the room once they got back. But it wasn’t worth the effort, and there was a small lingering feeling way down deep that might have been loneliness, something that remembered being with another person and liking it. 

“Yeah,” he said finally, letting his shoulders fall. She almost looked relieved. “Let’s just go, then.” 

They slipped out without saying anything. Jo turned on the music on the way back, playing snatches of several different songs without ever settling on one. Sam looked at the road illuminated by his headlights and tried to think about nothing at all. 

He let her into the motel room first, and stepped in after her, checking the salt line and the devil’s trap. He hadn’t seen Ruby for a week or so, and right now he didn’t want to. Jo was looking through the stack of books by the time he glanced back up. He waited for her reaction. 

“Huh,” was all she said, and looked at him for a moment before plopping down on the second bed. “So where’s the stuff?” 

Sam opened the closet door and pulled down a bottle of whiskey, already half empty. He passed it over. Jo took a swallow straight from the bottle, and winced. “This stuff is crap,” she said. Sam shrugged one shoulder. 

“I don’t buy it for the taste.”

“I guess you don’t.” She grimaced again, but had another gulp before wiping her mouth on her arm. “So. You’re not expecting company or anything, are you?” 

Sam snorted. Jo grinned, a little, and swished the bottle in her hand back and forth. “Just checking. I should probably get glasses or something, right?” 

“I don’t have any glasses,” Sam said bluntly. Jo glanced at him again, and he hated the brief flash of pity he saw in her eyes. 

“Yeah, guess not. Want some?” 

“Not really. I had enough for a lifetime last month.” It wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough. For tonight, he thought it was a better idea not to get drunk. There were a few ways that could go, and none of them were good. 

“Yeah,” Jo said, and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, after having another pull from the bottle. There was already a flush in her cheeks, and Sam wondered how much she usually had to drink. If she ever did. “The second bed’s for Dean, right?” She asked, after a moment. 

Sam felt his body jerk, his shoulders tighten. It was an involuntary reaction. “Yeah,” he said, after a moment. “I guess so.” 

“Do you still think he’s coming back?” 

Sam didn’t say anything. His hand went up without thinking about it, almost touched the amulet around his neck, then pressed back down and clenched in the bed sheets, all apparently without his instruction. Jo offered him the bottle, and this time Sam took it and had a long drink. It hardly even burned. 

“No,” he said, finally, letting his eyes fall toward the floor. “I don’t.” 

“But you keep looking,” Jo said. He wanted to hit her, momentarily, tell her to shut up, shut up. A moment later he felt sick with himself for thinking it. 

“Yeah,” Sam said dully. “I guess I just can’t stop.”

Jo was quiet for a few seconds, and then she nodded and held out her hand. He handed the bottle over. “Sorry,” she said. 

“It’s fine,” he said. Lying.

* * *

At some point Jo had moved over, and was now leaning on his shoulder, looking up at the ceiling. Her cheeks were decidedly pink and she didn’t seem quite so collected anymore.

“You know, Sam,” she said, words slurring a little. “You’re not so bad.” 

Sam wasn’t sure he was entirely sober either. The room seemed to be behaving a little funny, and he was pretty sure that he hadn’t meant to end up with his arm loose around Jo’s waist. “Thanks,” he said, hardly even bothering to feel stung. 

“I mean, you’re not _Dean,_ ” she said, “But you’re okay.” 

“Thanks,” Sam said again, more numbly. Jo looked up at him, seeming worried. 

“Are you going to cry?” 

“No,” Sam said simply, because he wasn’t. He hadn’t for a while. It would have just felt extraneous at this point. 

“Good,” she said, “Because that would be embarrassing.” 

“Uh-huh.”

She pursed her lips in that pouty way again and frowned at him. “Are you angry?” 

“Angry at what?” Sam asked, instead of answering, because he thought it was a fair question. There were a lot of things to be angry about. He wasn’t even sure he could remember them all. 

“At me,” Jo clarified. 

“No,” Sam said, and wasn’t sure if it was the truth or not. “I’m not angry at you.” He had another swig of whiskey, or tried, before realizing that it was gone. He dropped the bottle to the floor, where it landed with a dull _thunk._

“Good thing,” Jo said, and with a little sigh, leaned her head back on his shoulder, her eyes half closing. Sam looked sideways at her. She was warm against his side, her brows only faintly furrowed, barely touched by worry. 

He took her chin, tipped her head up and turned his. He thought of Dean when he kissed her. Of all the things (like this) that he would never get to do. Of all the chances he’d lost. _Who’s going to take those chances if it isn’t you?_ part of his brain asked. 

Jo seemed surprised, but not displeased. After a moment, her lips parted, slightly, and her body loosened. Her skin smelled like soap and just a little bit of metal. Her blond hair brushed against his cheek.

Sam pulled away abruptly and stumbled to his feet at the same time as Jo jerked away with a small gasp. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have-”

Jo’s eyes were wide. She stayed sitting down, though. “Yeah,” she agreed. “You shouldn’t have. Sam-”

“You should probably go,” he said, before she could finish talking. He could almost smell smoke, could almost see her burning. “Jesus. I’m sorry.” 

Jo stood up and wobbled a bit. “I don’t really have a room here,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I mean…in this town.” 

“Sleep here,” Sam said quickly. “I’ll go - --out in the car-”

“Calm down,” she said, rubbing her eyes, seeming less drunk now than tired. “It’s not like you…you have two beds, right? I’ll take this one. You can have the other one. No big deal.” 

Sam stared at her. _You aren’t…_ he started to think, and wasn’t sure where that sentence ended. _Scared? Worried? Uncomfortable?_ “Okay,” he said finally, because Jo was already stretching out on the bed nearest the door. “That’s okay.” 

“I can be smart too, you know,” Jo said, and she snorted. “Come on. Just go to bed. Clearly it’s too late.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, “Clearly.” 

He didn’t change. Jo fell asleep almost immediately, and Sam lay on top of the covers, expecting to be awake the whole night, but sometime toward the morning he dropped off.

* * *

It was midmorning by the time Sam started awake with a scream in his throat, looking wildly around. To his left first, and he found the bed, same as every night for the last two months.

And the familiarly shaped lump under the covers that wasn’t the same at all. 

For a moment, his whole body jumped. His heart leaped and started racing, _somehow, all my prayers somehow there is a god-_

Then Sam remembered. 

He got up quietly, packed all his things, and slipped out, careful not to break the salt line. He didn’t leave a note or wake up Jo. It was better just to be gone. She whimpered softly in her sleep, just before he closed the door. 

Sam got in the Impala and just sat there for a moment. 

He understood, he thought, even less than he had the day before. 

The engine started smoothly and he pulled out of the parking lot. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see if anyone had noticed his departure, but the door remained closed. He turned east and started driving. 

Time to vanish again.


End file.
